


Untouchable

by vials



Category: Smiley's People - John Le Carré
Genre: F/F, Missing Scene, Self-Harm, gratuitous headcanons, so bear in mind relevant themes I guess, this is set in a psychiatric hospital and everyone really does need to be there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 05:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: “I recognise that look in you, child. Sometimes I think you look at girls a little too closely.”"I do not.""But you like girls, yes?""They're pretty."“Do you like them how you like boys?”“No,” Tatiana said, wrinkling her nose and drawing out the word. She wasn’t lying, either, because she liked girls a lot, and she despised boys, so technically the two were nothing alike.Otherwise known as, when your father locks you in a females-only psychiatric hospital because he thinks you're too promiscuous, it really does pay to realise you're a lesbian.





	Untouchable

**Author's Note:**

> (From the backlog of fic -- 2017 batch.)

They made them do crafts on Thursday mornings, which was something Tatiana loved or hated depending on her mood. Sometimes it was an absolute bore and she felt trapped in the schools she had hated so much all over again, because for something that was supposed to be creative they truly did dictate to them what they could and couldn’t draw. Other times, what she wanted to create would align much better with what was deemed acceptable, and more often than not she would be the focus of praise she thoroughly enjoyed; Tatiana was certainly not inefficient with a pencil, and word eventually got around. Sometimes some of the other girls, bored with their own work, would much rather sit and watch Tatiana sketching, handing her pencils as she asked for them and making appreciative noises in all the right places. Tatiana could certainly get used to that.

Sometimes she would even give some of the girls the drawings as small gifts, though she stopped signing them with messages because the sisters always made her sign them Alexandra, and she didn’t like to lie on her own creations like that. It was better, she thought, to have her work attributed to anonymous rather than an identity she was not.

Today was one of the awkward days where Tatiana was stuck between two moods. The morning was still fresh and she had several hours to decide which mood she wanted to follow, but in the meantime she was left with a restlessness and irritability that was harming her focus and making her very uncomfortable. She glanced up from her paper more and more frequently, which didn’t matter because she wasn’t drawing anything properly anyway, and to her annoyance she always found the rest of the room getting on just fine without her. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying the morning’s activities and Tatiana felt a sudden surge of hatred and jealousy. It wasn’t fair that she had to sit alone with her restlessness while everyone else had fun. She wished she had the nerve to act out, to do something to draw the attention to herself and ruin it for everyone else, but every time she tried to push herself that one step further she always found she couldn’t commit to it. It was odd, considering that she had never had a problem with that before, but things were much different here. Her usual choice of activity when she was acting out, be it drink or men or both, was completely unattainable, and the sisters were unfortunately very unshakeable. Even her most violent tantrums would get her nowhere; their faces would remain on the saddened side of neutral, and she would simply wake up in her bed hours later to find Mother Felicity telling her that wasn’t how good Russian girls acted.

Well, Tatiana had never had much interest in being a good Russian anything, and she was beginning to wonder if anyone would ever notice that.

Winding a lock of hair around her finger, she pulled it tight enough that she felt the tip of her finger tingle. She thought about trying to get hold of a pair of the craft scissors and maybe cutting all her hair off, but she had to ask a sister for a pair of those, and then she could only use them under very close supervision. Besides, they were so blunt they barely cut through anything thicker than paper, and even then it was a struggle. There was a clock behind her and she wanted to turn to see how much longer she would have to suffer through this, but she didn’t want to twist her body around and risk one of the sisters coming over to see what was wrong. 

She let her hair untwist itself from around her finger, falling back down in loose curls that quickly unravelled. She picked up her pencil and scribbled for a while, daring to write her name in big wide loops that quickly got hidden under the scribbles. She smiled as the page began to fill up with the arcing strokes; there was a secret buried in the page, and no one would ever find out what it was.

Tatiana had always been good at knowing when she was being watched. It was unsurprising, considering she had felt invisible eyes on her for practically her entire life and no one had ever believed they were there. She had had to face them alone, and she had grown very good at it. It took her no effort at all now to straighten her back and turn to where she could feel the gaze coming from, fixing a hard stare of her own in its direction and staring down something she couldn’t see. She always thought that it would be better if she looked fierce. If it came down to it she wasn’t sure if she could be fierce, but she supposed that the watcher didn’t know that, so perhaps she would get away with it.

She did it automatically now, so used to it that it didn’t occur to her to do anything else. She was surprised when instead of fixing on nothing, her eyes instead found a pair looking right back at her, curious but not necessarily friendly. A beautiful girl was sitting in the middle of the room at a table shared with one other girl. A nun was bent over the other girl’s shoulder, pointing at something on the page, and as a result hadn’t even noticed what was transpiring. Tatiana held the girl’s gaze for a long moment, seeing that, like her, she too looked bored and restless, her body limp as she sat in her seat. Tatiana could see her long legs stretched under the table, almost reaching the other girl’s chair. Every single part of her radiated apathy, and Tatiana was impressed. How were the nuns not swarming her, asking her what was wrong and why she wasn’t participating? How did she have the nerve to lounge so obviously, without being lectured about posture and perseverance and attitude? 

The beautiful girl smiled at Tatiana and held up her pencil, and Tatiana got the impression she was confiding something in her; _trusting_ her. She found she was holding her breath, not wishing to draw an attention to herself at all in case one of the nuns noticed her and she ruined the secret. The beautiful girl held the pencil up for a moment, and then, suddenly, as Tatiana watched in amazement, she slammed it down into the back of her own hand with as much strength as she could.

In the chaos that followed, Tatiana didn’t see her serene smile fade once.

*****

Mother Felicity sat behind her desk, as she usually did, and watched Tatiana very closely, as she usually did. Tatiana wasn’t entirely sure why Mother Felicity seemed so distrustful of her good mood, but her annoyance wasn’t enough to dampen her spirits.

“An unexpected question, Alexandra,” Mother Felicity eventually said giving a small frown. “You’ve never expressed such an interest in the others here before. Why now?”

Tatiana tried to shrug casually, but her excitement was betrayed by her fidgeting. She couldn’t sit still if she tried; she was both shaking her leg and winding her hair around her finger at the same time, and she showed no signs of stopping.

“I just like the look of her,” she said, after a long pause. “She was bored on Thursdays too. No one else is ever bored on Thursday. But she was! And she wasn’t afraid to show it, either. She’s so brave. And pretty, too. I wish I had hair like hers. It’s so long. Perhaps I’ll grow mine. I was thinking about cutting it all off, but now I don’t think I will.”

The words came out in one big rush and Tatiana could feel Mother Felicity growing all the more suspicious by the second. Finally some annoyance broke through Tatiana’s good spirits and she pouted, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had done something wrong, gotten herself into trouble. Something stirred in the back of her head and she found it suddenly difficult to meet Mother Felicity’s gaze. 

She shifted in her seat so she could stretch her legs out under the table, trying to copy how the beautiful girl had been sitting before she had stabbed her hand. It gave her fresh courage.

“You certainly think highly of her, Alexandra,” Mother Felicity said, speaking slower than usual. Tatiana wondered if this was because she was trying to choose her words carefully, or if it was because she was trying to stay calm. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. I know how you can get, and you’re such a lovely girl when you’re behaving. This young lady does not exactly demonstrate behaviours I would like to see you copying.”

“I just want to talk to her,” Tatiana said, still pouting.

“You won’t have much luck. She doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“She might talk to me.”

“Highly unlikely.”

“Does she talk at all?”

“I suppose in her own way. Not to anyone other than herself, though.”

“What language does she speak?”

“French, I believe.”

“_French!_” Tatiana whispered, enamoured again. No wonder the girl was so beautiful. French girls always were – beautiful _and_ mysterious. She should have guessed.

“Alexandra,” Mother Felicity sighed. “Stop this.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Tatiana protested.

“I recognise that look in you, child. Sometimes I think you look at girls a little too closely.”

“I do not.”

“But you like girls, yes?”

“They’re pretty.”

“Do you like them how you like boys?”

“No,” Tatiana said, wrinkling her nose and drawing out the word. She wasn’t lying, either, because she liked girls a lot, and she despised boys, so technically the two were nothing alike.

“I would almost be more relieved, as at least I would somewhat understand if that was the case. You know how to pick them, Alexandra. What on earth screams friend material to you about what she did?”

“She’s not afraid,” Tatiana said firmly.

“But that isn’t always a good thing.” Mother Felicity’s voice was back to its usual patience. “Look at what happened. She hurt herself. Why would you want to be without fear if it was only going to hurt you?”

“Things can hurt you even when you’re scared. Why waste time with fear when it’s all going to end the same?”

Tatiana could almost hear the French girl saying the words, and it sent a shiver of excitement through her. She barely knew anything about her, but somehow she knew what she had said would be a sentiment they agreed on.

“Things will always happen, that is true,” Mother Felicity said, fixing her with a firm stare. “But a healthy dose of fear will keep things from happening too often, or from being as bad as they could be. Why else would God give you such an unpleasant emotion to deal with? You feel everything for good reason, Sashenka, so remember that.”

“Do you think my mother would still be alive if she’d stayed being scared all the time?” Tatiana asked, more because she was annoyed and wanted to make things as unpleasant for Mother Felicity as they were for her, rather than any real desire for a satisfactory answer.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mother Felicity said neutrally. 

“That was why she got killed,” Tatiana continued. “She wasn’t scared anymore so she started doing things she shouldn’t. Praying, and asking questions, and other things, too. So my father had her killed. I think he watched. He watches _everything_.”

“You know we’ve spoken about this.” Mother Felicity sounded suddenly tired. “You’ve been so well behaved lately, too. This doesn’t support your case, does it?”

“I don’t care,” Tatiana said, in another sudden moment of bravery. “If I want to be friends with her, I will be.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Mother Felicity said grimly.

*****

Tatiana didn’t see the French girl for over a week after that. It gave her no end of anxiety but it wasn’t as though she could ask anyone: the sisters would be sure to tell Mother Felicity, and the other girls wouldn’t have a clue. No one watched as closely as Tatiana did, and it was one of her largest frustrations about the place. She cut some slack to the girls who weren’t exactly in a position to keep watch, but as for the others? What did they spend their time doing, anyway? If any of them had come to Tatiana with a question she would know the answer, or she would at least find out. No one gave her the same courtesy in return, and for that reason Tatiana was alone in her mission.

Her main fear was that the girl had been taken away. Sometimes that happened, when a girl was too difficult or too dangerous, but Tatiana didn’t think the French girl was dangerous. She was loud and prone to tantrums, but she had never gone out of her way to harm anyone other than herself. Sometimes she caught the sisters whispering about it and assumed that to them it was all the same thing, and it made her skin prickle. Tatiana was firmly of the belief that someone could do whatever they hell they wanted with their own body – if the French girl wanted to cover her hands in sharp pencil wounds she should be allowed to, and Tatiana was sure she would look no less beautiful for it. 

She missed her and she didn’t even know her. Or, she thought there was a chance she might not know her – there was no denying the fact that Tatiana felt as though she did know her after all, but Tatiana was clever and knew not to make assumptions. She was allowed to be fairly certain she was right, but she would need to test the theory. It wasn’t a worry to her. She knew she would be right. 

At Thursday crafts the French girl was nowhere to be seen. Tatiana tried not to make it obvious that she was looking for her, but she could tell her unhappiness was noticeable by the end of the morning. She let herself sulk for a while, by this point absolutely convinced that there was some kind of conspiracy at work here; she even found herself growing more and more distrustful of Mother Felicity, certain that she was deliberately keeping them apart. At their weekly meeting she even accused her of it, but knew from her reaction that she was wrong. Or, at the very least, that she would have no proof and therefore she should abandon that line of thought and focus on others. There was a scheme going on, make no mistake, but she would do herself no good if she spent all her time looking for it in the wrong place.

When finally Tatiana saw her again, it was an unusually warm day for the time of year and as a result they were outside on the lawns, mostly free to roam the grass under the watchful eye of the sisters.  
She was just as beautiful as Tatiana remembered, if not more so. The sunlight caught her hair in a band around the top and made her look like she was wearing a halo; she sat quietly in the grass, her knees drawn up and her arms draped over them as she picked at the grass. As Tatiana approached, she could hear the girl was humming, though it was just that – humming, and no words. Tatiana remembered what Mother Felicity had said about the fact she didn’t speak, but her bravado from then had vanished. She wouldn’t force her to do anything, she promised. That’s what everyone did in this place, with their constant pushing and their constant demands. She wouldn’t do that to her. Friends didn’t do that to each other.

Thankfully Tatiana had never been shy about her intentions. She sat down next to the French girl and glanced over at what she was doing, which was nothing in particular. She was simply shredding grass and letting it flutter back the short distance to the ground, and Tatiana noticed that the back of her left hand still showed the evidence of the week before. It had healed well, but the new skin was still a deep red compared to the rest of the pale skin surrounding it. Tatiana took a moment to marvel at the fact that it was dead centre of her hand; she wondered if it was intentional. 

The French girl didn’t even so much as glance at her, but Tatiana had been expecting that. For Tatiana’s part, her attention was focused on the sisters, who thankfully hadn’t rushed over to separate their forbidden meeting just yet. Once she was satisfied that wasn’t going to change any time soon, she turned back to the French girl, watching her closely. She was just as pretty close up. Tatiana spotted a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and at the sight of them felt a sudden and overwhelming rush of affection towards her.

“Your hand is better,” she said, not expecting a reply. She didn’t get one, though she saw the French girl’s hands pause ever so slightly as she registered that Tatiana was talking to her. Tatiana wondered if she even understood her. She could speak basic conversational French, but out of habit she had addressed the girl in German, which was her best bet around here for having someone understand her. Aside from Mother Felicity, she hadn’t yet run across someone who could speak Russian. 

Swapping to her just barely passable French, she apologised.

“I don’t speak French well,” she said. “But I don’t think you like to talk. So maybe it’s OK.”

For someone usually so talkative, Tatiana was surprised to find the silence didn’t bother her. They sat close together, the French girl captivated by her grass and Tatiana captivated by her. The sun was warm on their backs and Tatiana wondered what they must look like, sat together in the same way, the sun giving them identical halos.

She could never help herself for too long, though. Silence always became too much for her eventually, and she found herself growing restless. She didn’t want to have to leave, nor did she want to disturb the girl from what she was doing, so she settled for making the occasional comment and reading what disturbed her the least. She quickly discovered that the French girl had no reaction whatsoever when Tatiana spoke Russian, so that was they compromise they reached: the French girl was free to play with her grass and her flowers, and Tatiana was free to chat in Russian about whatever crossed her mind.

“I wish I was as brave as you,” she eventually said, her eye going to the mark on the back of the girl’s hand again. “I think if I was as brave as you I wouldn’t be here. I don’t know where I might be instead, but I know it wouldn’t be here. Maybe I would be with my mother. Probably. She’s dead, but maybe that would have been better than being here. I hate being here. I don’t want to be. It’s all… it’s all a pile of shit.”

It was the first time that Tatiana had voiced such vulgar dissatisfaction at her circumstances. The words tasted metallic in her mouth and she experienced a simultaneous rush of excitement and terror. The French girl twisted grass blades next to her, oblivious of the situation playing out right beside her.

For a few tense seconds, Tatiana sat quite still, not knowing what it was that she expected to happen but expecting it all the same. It was a relief when nothing came; quite suddenly she felt silly for it, asking herself what on earth she thought could have come from a simple expression of distaste. Emboldened, she stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles.

“It isn’t _bad_ here,” she said. “But it’s not where I want to be. I miss being able to do my own thing. I miss being able to have fun. It’s all so _proper_ here, don’t you think? It’s like being back at school, and I hated school.”

The French girl made a soft humming sound, and Tatiana nodded as though they were in agreement.

“I bet you hate it here too, don’t you? You don’t seem like the kind of person who would like to be stuck anywhere.”

Tatiana watched the French girl’s hands, admiring how nimbly they moved as she played with the flowers. Now she was paying attention, Tatiana could see that she wasn’t just simply moving them around, but was in fact threading them together, cutting a hole in the stems with her nail and threading the next stem through it until they were all joined together in a pattern of bright heads and green stems in a long line. The French girl stuck her tongue out slightly as she worked, and for some reason Tatiana felt a rush of comfort at the sight; at the realisation that not everything she did made zero sense like what Mother Felicity had implied. 

“You just like to do what _you_ want to do, don’t you?” Tatiana asked. “I bet they didn’t let you bring flowers into the craft room and that’s why you were so bored.”

A final flick of the flowers and the French girl was done. She held up the finished product – a circle of flowers three thick, woven together without the slightest imperfection, and as Tatiana was admiring it the French girl reached over and placed it on Tatiana’s head, encircling the top just how the sunlight halo had on her own hair. The French girl looked at her for a moment and then smiled, clapping her hands together.

“_Bien!_” she whispered, and Tatiana finally shook herself out of her shock and smiled back, striking a pose. 

They were still giggling when the sisters began gathering everyone up to go back inside.


End file.
